


Ice Locked

by frankie_31



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: 2018 Winter Olympics, F/F, M/M, Multi, Yeah idk either
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankie_31/pseuds/frankie_31
Summary: uh okay bare with me. el and margo are olympic figure skaters? quentin is the journalist doing an article on them. trust me. it's gonna be good.





	1. Chapter 1

Quentin sees them for the first time on YouTube. His boss had emailed him a link along with a short message.

 

_what can we do with this? I have a good feeling about them_

 

He pulls his glasses from the top of his head, peers at his phone screen. It’s some figure skating video, the page name is simply _Rink Royalty_. He knew going in to Olympic season that he’d get at least one sports article, but ice skating?

 

But, obediently, he clicks play on the video. He snorts when he hears the first [ notes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=einx9bbLb-8) play (Rihanna, really?) and sits back in his seat. He’s just looking an empty rink at first, then she skates into view.

 

She’s wearing a tight black dress with white stripes running down the sides and a fluttery, short skirt. Her skates are glittering bedazzled at her feet, she’s got on a matching headband. She has her back to the camera as she assumes her starting position, back arched and hands held up in an elegant loop. Her partner skates in and collects her tenderly in his arms. He’s dressed similarly, down to the skates.

 

Their arms pulse to the beat, raising and lowering to the beat and her partner draws a long arm from her ribs down to her knee. He’s a taught bow and she snaps from his arms with a push against the ice. The song leads them in a chase around the rink, she’s always a step ahead. They’re too far away to make out the features of their faces but Quentin is completely sucked in.

 

He has never seen a skating routine like this. It’s a lover’s skate. And not like the usual pair skate, cloying and delicate. It’s intimate, heated. The man nearly reaches her and she jumps away, spinning into open air and landing with her face to him. He matches her jump, landing close enough to lay his hands to her hips and she uses his momentum to swing herself into a low spin.

 

The woman is liquid sex poured into skates, her body is fluid and open as she invites the man to catch up to her. Her jumps are effortless, undulating and sharp at the same time.

 

Finally, on the chorus, the man catches her. He braces his hands on her hips and lifts her above his head in a smooth motion. She arches in his hands, catching one skate in her hands. On the way down, she folds her legs around his waist and he skates backwards in a circle. She pushes off of him and the chase begins again, but now she lets him catch her and he throws her into what Quentin assumes is a series of technically skilled spins.

 

Every lift is sensual, their bodies sliding together on the way up and down and Quentin’s red faced and clammy by the end.

 

He’s about to close YouTube when he realizes that the pair is skating towards the camera, wrapped around each other and in sync. Quentin’s mouth dries as they come fully into the camera’s frame. The woman’s astonishingly beautiful, full lipped and doe eyed. The man is aristocratic, with sharp slim features and a tousle of dark curls.  

 

“If you’re watching this,” the woman says and she smiles easily at the camera, “you’re welcome.”

 

“What my dear Margo means to say is, thank you so much for watching us skate,” he laughs and brings Margo closer to him. “Your support is what gave us the courage and strength to make it to the Winter Olympics. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

“I said what I meant, Eliot,” Margo says with a smile and he jokingly puts a hand over her mouth.

 

“Thank you,” Eliot says again, face filling the screen. Quentin sucks in a breath and the video cuts to the title of the song along with a short dedication of thanks to their coach and the rink they filmed in.

 

He looks through the comments, it’s a mixed bag of people being blown away by the contemporary skating and the antiquated folks shocked at the sensuality. Either way, there are 248k views and nearly as many comments. It had been posted three days ago. He looks through the other practice skates in the playlist, they’re all as fascinating and there are even a few more classic videos where they do the normal, perfunctory routines expected of figure skating.

 

He’s an hour deep into research and has three pages of notes jotted down when he realizes that he never got back to his boss. He calls him, pitches a full 5-page spread, fly on the wall of Olympic week for the pair. It takes a bit of hemming and hawing, but eventually he gives in and two days later, the pair’s publicist meets them to set up the detail. Quentin is disappointed he doesn’t get to meet the two yet, but he stamps down that feeling. Distinguished, award winning journalists do not get starstruck.  

 

It’s short notice, Olympic season is barely three weeks away, so he buzzes Julia’s apartment with Thai takeout and a sixer of IPA.  Julia is his favorite photographer and has been for years, they’ve worked together on nearly every article Quentin’s published. She makes a face, but she still takes the sixpack.

 

They spend the night watching highlight reels and short interviews of Hansen and Waugh.

 

“God, they’re gorgeous,” Julia says and sits up on the couch. “Forget this Olympics crap, I want them in a studio. I want these people in an editorial shoot.”

 

“I know,” Quentin says, pushing his glasses back up on top of his head. “They’re going to photograph so well.”

 

“I want Waugh served to me on a cracker,” she giggles and he shoves her shoulder.

 

“Come on, we’re about to move into their pockets for sixteen days. Keep it in your pants,” he says, joking, and she makes a mock-upset face. He really should’ve seen the pillow to the face coming.

 

***

 

They fly in the same day as Waugh and Hanson and meet them at the hotel. They’re all tired from the long flight and they huddle together clutching styrofoam cups of coffee in the hotel garden. Idle small talk fills up the first twenty minutes and eventually the conversation lulls into silence.

 

“Is it okay--,” Julia starts and then stops, her fingers pressed to her lips. “Can I take my camera out?”

 

Waugh and Hanson look at each other, she nods. “Yeah, that’s what you’re here for. Right?”

 

Julia pulls out her camera with a small smile and fades into the background.

 

“I mean, you have to know you’re both incredibly attractive,” Quentin says, shocking a smile out of the two.

 

“Oh, gorgeous,” Julia breathes, admiring the picture on her display. The skaters laugh and Margo curls into Eliot.

 

“If you’re just gonna compliment me for the next sixteen days, I say we bump this into a yearlong project,” Margo says and Quentin smiles back.

 

“How did you guys meet?” He asks, slipping his glasses on and taking out his notebook.

 

“We were fifteen,” Margo says and her gaze drifts past them. “Our coach at the time worked with us --separately, at first-- but he brought us together. We’ve been together ever since.”

 

“Together?” Quentin prompts and Margo’s eyes slide back to meet his with a coy smile.

 

“We’re inseparable,” she says, purposefully vague. He concedes to her, he hadn’t expected a straight answer. It’s probably the most asked question the two receive.

 

“What’s the first song you skated to?”

 

“It was some terrible, cliche classical song,” Margo says and Quentin nods, writing down his words. “It was boring, basic, normal. At the next practice, I brought a violin cover of _You and I_ by Lady Gaga and the rest was history.”

 

“We saw a creativity in each other,” Eliot started. “We hadn’t seen it in any other partners and we really fed into that. We must have choreographed a dozen songs that first month.”

 

Eliot presses a kiss to Margo’s forehead, she rubs a hand over his bicep.

 

“I’m gonna get the boring questions out of the way now,” Quentin says, wrinkling his nose. “There’s a lot of controversy around your more modern routines. Specifically, your routine for _Jump_. Rihanna herself even reached out to you via Twitter.”

“I almost wet my romper when I saw that tweet,” Margo says and fishes her phone out of pocket. She shows the screen, and the wallpaper featuring the tweet, to Quentin. “I’m going to be buried with a marble engraving of it.”

 

“To answer you,” Eliot begins. “We are a modern figure skating pair. Our routines, our music selection, our costuming. It’s the pinnacle of modern America.”

 

“We’re biracial and bisexual,” Margo says and Quentin ignores the hitch in his pulse. “We’re here to represent America in the best light we can. And that light is blinding, honey.”

 

“Hell yeah,” Julia chimes in.

 

“You’ve got to come drinking with us tonight,” Margo says and reaches out to put her well-manicured hand on Quentin’s arm. “Let loose with us and the rest of the American team.”

 

“Off the table?”

 

“Off the table,” Eliot answers and Quentin can feel his face heating up. Eliot quirks a corner of his mouth and Margo flicks a glance between the two.

 

“Maybe under the table,” she says and her smile is wicked. “On the floor. In the shower?”

 

“Bambi, behave,” Eliot says without heat, Quentin can’t meet his eyes.

 

“Well, we should unpack then. Text us the bar and we’ll meet you there?” Julia saves him from disintegrating on the spot.

 

“Deal,” Eliot says and they say their polite goodbyes.

 

“Okay,” Julia says once they’re safe inside their hotel room. “I guess they’re gonna eat you on a cracker.”

 

“Oh my God,” Quentin says and falls face first on the bed. “So, that wasn’t just me?”

 

“Um, no,” Julia flops on the bed beside him and huffs out a laugh. “I thought they were going to strip you on the spot.”

 

“That’s definitely an ethical violation,” Quentin mumbles into the bed. “Jules, I can’t.”

 

“Oh, you have too,” she says and prods his shoulder. “You have too.”

 

“I’d get fired or worse, blacklisted. Then I’m gonna have to move into my car.”

 

“You don’t have a car. We live in New York.”

 

“Not the point,” he say but she’s already climbing off the bed.

 

“I’m gonna shower,” she says and collects her toiletries bag. “Then, you’re showering. Then we’re putting you in the tightest pants you brought and shaving your face.”

 

“Traitor,” he says as the bathroom door closes.


	2. Chapter 2

The bar is absolutely packed, it’s nearly impossible to see anyone through the packed bodies. Julia tugs Quentin’s arm and when he can’t hear her over the clamor in the bar, she points up to the VIP section. Eliot waves a hand down to them. 

 

He’s in black, the red and blue lights of the dancefloor slide across his pale skin.  Margo appears at his elbow shortly. She’s in a brightly patterned bodycon dress that bares tasteful and purposeful swaths of honey-nut skin. They looks like they fell out of a _Vogue Italia_ spread  and the two watch as Quentin and Julia make their way through the crowded bar. It’s quieter up here, and Quentin can hear his heartbeat in his head.

 

Eliot kisses Julia on either cheek, pulling her into a tight and warm hug. Margo gives a brisker hug but she also is holding two hurricane glasses full of kelly green liquid, one of which she gives to Julia.

 

She pushes ahead of Eliot, wrapping an arm around Quentin’s waist and smiling beautifically up at him. 

 

“Hey, tiger,” she says and Quentin feels a twist in his lower belly. Her body is pressed against him and he settles a hand on the warm, exposed skin of her lower back. She rests her head on his chest for a split second and he blinks stupidly down at the crown of her head. 

 

“Hi, there,” Eliot says from his other side, pulling them both in for a hug. Quentin is going to have an aneurysm. 

 

“Uh--h-hi,” he manages, at last, and Julia snorts into her mixed drink. “H-how are you guys?”

 

“I’m just peachy,” Eliot says with a small, smug smile and Quentin tries desperately to cling to his morals. “And yourself?”

 

“Super,” Quentin says and Julia just flat out laughs at him. 

 

Quentin forces himself to unnest from their embrace, taking the green drink, and moves towards the door to the VIP lounge. It’s much less busy in here and Quentin breathes a sigh of relief. Julia pats his arm and goes to mingle. He admires her sociable nature, all the while seeking out a quiet corner to post up on. 

 

His plans are thwarted when Eliot and Margo bracket him on his chosen couch. She bounces gracefully on to the couch and crosses her legs in a calculated move to hike her skirt hem up. She smoothes a hand down the length of her side and when Quentin drags his eyes back up to her face, she’s smiling at him with her head tilted and her lips slightly parted. Eliot gives him a start when he nonchalantly drapes an arm around the back of the couch, his fingers trace the collar of Quentin’s shirt. 

 

“You’ve practiced this,” Quentin says and shifts his drink to the other hand. “I can’t sleep with you, though.”

 

“Oh. Honey,” Margo says, twisting the end of her high-pony in her fingers. “We don’t want to sleep with you.”

 

He swallows against the pang of rejection in his chest. “Oh.”   
  


“We want to take you apart,” Eliot says in his ear, low and husky. Shivers light up and down Quentin’s spine and he clutches the drink. “We want to spread you out on a bed and find out what makes you tick. We want to ruin your life.”

 

“C-Christ,” Quentin sputters. Eliot’s hand slides across Quentin’s stomach, over the shirt but still hot and so big. He sucks in a breath and Eliot takes the time to slide his hand under Quentin’s shirt hem. His fingers drag across Quentin’s stomach like live wire.

 

“So?” Margo prompts. “Can we?”

 

“Pretty please,” Eliot says with a smile in his voice. “We promise you’ll like it.”

 

“I--,” Quentin sits up, fighting every neuron in his brain. “I can’t.”

 

“We won’t tell,” Margo says with a wide-eyed and innocent look, sitting up with him. She takes his jaw in one hand and he looks at her helplessly. She runs one slender thumb over his chin and up to his lips, brushing over the sensitive skin. He takes her thumb into his mouth, his teeth press into the pad of her tongue and he can taste her soft, clean skin. Eliot is a heavy heat at his back now, he’s got that arm banded behind Quentin and the other across his belly. His chin rests in the crook of Quentin’s neck and Quentin lets his head fall back a little. 

 

Margo sits forward, a dainty hand pressing high up on Quentin’s thigh. She slides a hand through Quentin’s hair, rises up on her knees and moves within inches of Quentin’s face. 

 

She doesn’t kiss him but she does drag her thumb down, pulling his mouth open slightly. He can feel her breath on his lips, her eyes flutter half-closed and she pushes her breasts into him.

 

“Let us have you,” Eliot says low in his ear and Margo’s hand trails down from his mouth to press lightly on his throat. Her other hand tugs his hair a little and his head falls back. He’s pliable between them, vulnerable and all the harder in his pants for it. “Kiss her.”

 

“No,” he says and Margo eases away from him. Her fingers slide out of his hair and away from his neck, she drags them up her thighs. “I can’t.” 

 

“Okay,” Eliot says and he presses a quick kiss to Quentin’s temple before he pulls away. “No problem.”

 

“I’m sorry,” he says, lost and fighting himself on every syllable. “I can’t, ethically. It’s just not appropriate.” 

 

“It’s okay,” Margo says with a surprisingly soft look on her face. “No hard feelings.”

 

“Are you going to be okay with doing this piece now?” Eliot asks and Quentin turns to him quickly, sloshing a little of his drink on his hand. 

 

“Of course,” he says with heat. “You two are the most fascinating people in this competition. I’d walk on fucking fire to do this piece. “

 

Eliot laughs and pats Quentin on the shoulder. “Yes, yes. Ply me with compliments. I am sated.”

 

“I guess we need to get shitfaced now,” Margo says and prods the glass in Quentin’s hand. “Bottoms up, tiger.”

 

Gamely, he chugs the drink and the skaters cheer. 

 

“Shots?” Eliot asks.

 

“Shots,” Margo confirms. 

 

“Shots,” Quentin echoes, anticipating tomorrow’s headache. 

 

***

 

He wakes with a lurch, sitting up in his bed. Julia’s snoring softly in her bed, last night’s makeup smeared across the white pillow case and her dress in a heap on the floor. 

 

He’s alone in his bed. By choice, he reminds himself sternly and staggers to the bathroom. When he comes out, Julia is messing with the coffee maker in just panties, grumbling. 

 

“This thing sucks,” she says and her voice is grainy with sleep. “I need a bistro. I need a drip and a goddamn croissant.”

 

He makes a noise of agreement and she zombie-marches into the bathroom. She’s out by the time he’s dressed, years of familiarity cause her to drop her undies and yank on new ones before him. He pulls his hair into a low knot and yanks a beanie on along with his glasses. 

 

“Let’s bounce,” she says and slings her camera around her neck. “I got a text from Margo, they’re already at the bistro.”

 

A little pang of nerves hits him, but he remembers how kind and classily they’d handled his rejection. When they arrive, Julia waves in greeting and pulls her camera up to her eye in the save movement. Eliot and Margo are on a window seat, curled around each other like cats. 

He waves shyly and they smile at him in unison. He orders for himself and Julia and makes his way to a small table near them.    
  


“How’s the head?” Margo asks and crosses her legs at the ankles. Quentin resolutely doesn’t look at her legs in her stripy stockings and shoots her a quick smile. 

 

“I actually managed to sleep through it,”  he says. “And yourselves?”

 

“I don’t think I’ve had a hangover since I was 16,” Margo says consideringly. “Maybe I should cut back.”

 

“Nah,” Quentin says and flicks his hand. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

 

He stands to collect his and Julia’s order and she happily takes her drip coffee. He lines up his notebook beside his croissant and coffee, pulls a pen out of his messenger bag. When he looks up again, Margo and Eliot are watching him and he breaks into a nervous smile. 

 

“I figure we can start in earnest today,” he says and the two nod. “I looked over your itinerary for today. Are you excited to practice in an Olympic ring?”

 

The rest of the morning is filled with conversation and the sound of Julia’s camera clicking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we join el and margo on the rink next (:


End file.
